Esmeralda's Angel
by LadyBastet92
Summary: A young Esmeralda enters Notre Dame looking for a demon...and leaves it having found an angel. One-shot, even though it's rather lengthy.


**A/N: This one-shot deals with Esmeralda as a child. I've never really written from a child's perspective before, so if the characterization is a little off, I apologize. I just thought that this was a cute idea. I hope I pulled it off okay.**

**Also, in case in isn't clear: the Clopin and Esme relationship is strictly brother/sister. NOT PERVERTED. KK? **

**As always, mucho love to any reviewers, sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes, and enjoy.**

Down a narrow Parisian ally, a young girl skipped along merrily, occasionally doing a little twirl in her colorful gypsy dress. Her dark skin seemed vibrant in the bright spring sun, and her little smile radiated with childish pleasure. With each little hop, the tambourine on her hip would jingle, its little cymbals creating an unnatural song that traveled through the cities' small streets. The gypsy girl didn't really have much to be happy about; the life of a gypsy, especially an orphaned one, is full of hardships and strife. Yet this girl seemed able to brush off these burdens with just the spin of her dress. With a little twirl, the girl giggled, appearing to be made of nothing but air.

"Emmi! Emmi!"

The girl was oblivious to these cries, lost in her own little world. She woke up when she felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned around to the figure of a boy in his late teens, though his height made him look much older. Dressed in colorful gypsy garments, the young man seemed to never go a day without looking jovial. He whipped the sweat from his forehead and tried to calm his breathing as he spoke.

"Emmi, there you are," the young man panted, "I've been chasing after you all day! You never fail to amaze me with your agility." He gave off a weak laugh, and wrapped his arm around her small shoulder.

"It's _Esme_, Clopin, not _Emmi_," the girl complained, ducking under Clopin's arm. "If you're going to use a nickname, call me Esme. Emmi is _way_ to girly," she said, sticking her tongue out in disgust.

"It's _endearing_, Esmeralda," said Clopin, grabbing her by the waist playfully. She squealed girlishly, before squirming free from his grasp once again. He smiled and sighed. He needn't worry about her so much. The captain of the guard wouldn't be able to catch this girl if he tried.

"I came to give you something," said Clopin, and reached behind his back to bring forth a silk, purple scarf. He smiled as Esmeralda cried out for joy and ran up to feel the scarf in her petite hands.

"Is it's really mine? Oh, thank you Clopin, thank you!" she draped the scarf around her shoulders, and began to twirl and dance with exuberant energy. The girl seemed delighted at the gift, and Clopin felt like he did well. He loved to see Esmeralda smile. Her raven hair swirled majestically in the bright sunlight, as her tiny frame spun around and around. Like most her age, Esmeralda was rather scrawny, but he knew that she was born for beauty. When Clopin had taken her under his wing after her parents died, he found himself unusually yet constantly concerned for her well-being. He never thought much of children before, so it was unusual how willingly he became her caretaker. There was something special about Esmeralda, and he was charmed by her, even at such a young age. He knew he would give anything to make her happy and safe.

Esmeralda hugged Clopin's waist in gratitude. "This is the best gift ever!" she cried. Clopin patted her head, and said "I'm glad you like it. After all, what is the best dancer in Paris without the proper attire?"

Esmeralda's dark eyes shined, suddenly filled with determination. "I have to go practice!" her small voice called out with urgency before bolting out of the ally into the busy Parisian street.

"Be careful! Don't get caught! And be back by sunset!" Clopin yelled after her, but it was in vain. The girl was already gone. He sighed, and shook his head. No one could control that girl once she had her mind set.

Esmeralda walked through the city streets with her head held high, proudly displaying her new gift. Even Esmeralda knew Clopin must've been saving up his earnings for a long time to buy it for her. Ordinarily, the gypsies didn't spend money on what they thought of as frivolous things. The fact that Clopin bought it anyway made her treasure it even more. She wrapped her hand around one of the scarf's ends. It was soft to the touch, almost slipping out of her hands. On its purple background, figures of the stars and the moon were sewed on elegantly, creating a surreal night scene on its purple background. It matched her dark skin perfectly. Esmeralda's smile widened as she remembered Clopins' remark. _The best dancer in Paris._ She wasn't there yet, she knew that-but she knew she would be.

Esmeralda looked right and left, looking for a vacant corner on one of the streets. It was the busiest time of day for Paris, and every inch of its' streets seemed crowded. Finally, she found an opening by one of the bridges leading into the Ile de la Cite. Esmeralda took out her tambourine, wrapped her scarf around her, and began to dance. She could feel a wave of pleasure seep through her veins as she began to spin and twirl. This was what she'd been doing ever since she knew how to walk. For as long as she could remember, all Esmeralda wanted to do was dance.

She was not born with natural talent, like many others were. She had to work hard if she was going to be a great dancer. At such a young age, Esmeralda knew the concept of hard work. Her whole life had been hard. But the difference with dancing was that she_ wanted _to work at it. Her dark eyes had always been set on her single goal, the goal many people thought of as foolish and impossible. They called her too short and awkward to be a dancer, that she was more inclined to stub a toe then hit a beat. It was true, the child lacked some grace and posture. But every time she fell, she got up with an even stronger sense of determination that only children seemed to have. If she just kept trying, she knew that someday she would be the greatest dancer in all of Paris.

But for now, she was still a child. A girl whose only wish was to dance. She tapped her tambourine and she moved to and fro, occasionally getting off step or tripping over her own heels. But when she did, she only laughed, and picked herself up again with conviction. Occasionally, a passerby would stop and watch, laugh at her cheerfulness, and toss in a coin for her efforts.

But others would scowl, upturn their noses, and hurry away at the sight of the gypsy girl. They would glare at her, and mutter some foul curse under their breath. Esmeralda tried her best to ignore these passersby, but their hateful words still lingered in her ears long after they were gone. _Disgraceful. Unclean. Street-rat. _Not words she hadn't heard before, but each one stung her nevertheless. But she continued to dance, trying to cleanse herself of their cruel remarks. She forced those vile thoughts out of her head, forgetting the hate, forgetting the world entirely, spinning faster and faster, until the world was nothing but one big blur. This was her relief. This was her world.

Suddenly, Esmeralda crashed into a citizen walking bye, and tumbled to the ground. Her dress tore on the sidewalk, and she could feel blood trickling down her leg. The man she accidentally hit glared at the fallen girl, his face seething. There was not an ounce of pity in his eyes, looking at Esmeralda as if she were a stray dog. Indeed, she was no better than a dog in his eyes. "Filthy gypsy," he hissed. "Go back to the dung hole where you belong!" And with one last huff, he stormed off into the Paris streets.

Esmeralda sat on the cobble road, tears bubbling up in her eyes. She quickly whipped them away, trying her best to hide her face from the citizens walking by. No, she would not cry. She had always known that this was how gypsies were treated, how they were looked down upon and scorned. This was how it would be for the rest of her life, and she would just have to endure it. But the hurt was still there, like a knife piercing her stomach. She tried to swallow it, picking up the coins some passersby were kind enough to throw. She wasn't really dancing to earn money, but she and Clopin could take all she could get.

After stuffing her earnings in her purse, Esmeralda went down to the river and dipped her hands in its' cool water to get a drink. She washed away any traces of her tears, and dipped her leg in to clean her wound. It stung, but she had worse. She would be able to dance again right away. At that moment, all Esmeralda wanted to do was dance again, to forget and get lost again. No matter how much pain to took, she wanted desperately to get away.

"Hey! Twinkle-toes!"

Esmeralda groaned. Today was not a blessed day. Looking up to the bridge above, she spotted two faces looking down at her. She knew them too well. Clutching her tambourine, Esmeralda dashed up to the higher level above the Seine, hoping to avoid the two boys who loved to plague her, but her hoping was in vain. "Where'd ya think you're going, Parisian princess?" The two figures-boys a bit older then her-cornered her against the wall of the river before she could run away.

These two gypsies loved to torment anyone around them, whether they were dogs, cats or other children. Bijon, especially, loved having power. He was short, skinny, and had an elongated face and stubby ears. His partner, Maron, was rounder, and had a ruddier complexion, and was more subdued then his partner. This may simply be because he learned quicker then Bijon who and who not to pick fights with. The hesitant way he approached Esmeralda's piercing stare showed that he had long since learned his lesson with her.

Yet Bijon was oblivious to this, as he approached the girl with a wicked smile on his face. Esmeralda wasn't intimidated, only irritated. She didn't have a problem dealing with those bigger then her. Maron knew this, but Bijon only cackled under her furious expression. Esmeralda was suddenly glad she had gotten rid of any traces of her previous tears. She would not allow herself to look weak in front of these two.

"What do you want, Bijon? I'm going home," she spat.

"Oh, what's this?" said Bijon mockingly, grabbing her scarf before she could tuck it away. "Did the princess waste her money on this stupid thing?"

"Give it back!" Esmeralda cried heatedly.

"Come and take it!" Bijon yelled, running off with the scarf in his hands. Halfway across the bridge, Esmeralda caught up to him, and elbowed him in the gut with all her might. The boy winced in pain, and let go of the silk scarf before kneeling to the ground. Esmeralda grabbed it, and tucked it away with a triumphant grin on her face. A life of living on the streets had given the seemingly weak girl pretty tough skin. Esmeralda stuck out her tongue, and said "You'll get worse then that if you try messing with me again!" Maron, approaching from behind, just shook his head with a look that clearly said _"I told you so"._

Bijon grunted, getting to his feet. "You think you're so great, don't you? Thinking that someday you'll be the 'best dancer in Paris?' Ha!" the boy laughed crudely, "Your dancing isn't worth a single coin, and it never will be!"

"It's better than being a cowardly, good-for-nothing fool like you are!" Esmeralda responded bitingly, trying to conceal the hurt in her voice.

"And you think you're so brave?"

"Ten times braver then you'll ever be!"

"Alright then," Bijon said, crossing his arms, "If you're as brave as you say you are, then you wouldn't be afraid of a little dare, would you?"

"Oh course not!" said Esmeralda, trying to sound as confidant as she could in her petite voice.

"Alright," said Bijon, mischief creeping into his voice, "I dare you…to go up to the bell tower of Notre Dame."

Esmeralda laughed. "What's so scary about that? That one of those bells might fall on me?"

The mischievous grin widened on Bijon's face, as he leaned in and said mysteriously, "You mean you haven't heard of the demon of Notre Dame?"

Esmeralda's laugh faded with uncertainty, and her brow furrowed. "A demon?"

"He's the living embodiment of evil. He lives up in the bell tower, ringing the bells by day, and whispering curses into the dead of night," Bijon whispered dramatically.

"A bunch of hogwash. It's a stupid story, that's all," said Esmeralda with her arms crossed.

"Oh no, it's true! Just the other day, a woman bore a child with two heads! I know someone who knows someone who was at the actual birth. It was the demons' curse!" said Bijon, flailing his arms for exaggeration.

"Well…what does he look like?" Esmeralda asked nervously, her curiosity overcoming her.

Bijon chuckled, and he began to speak, his voice low and dramatic. "His figure is just disfigured as his twisted heart-if demons have hearts, that it. To merely look at is face is to die of fright. His teeth are crooked and rotten from eating human flesh, and his eyes are two burning black holes. One of them isn't even an eye-it's the egg of Satan burning underneath his skin. His nose is flat against his face, to help him smell his victims from afar. And on his back is a giant hump, distorting his whole frame, proof that he is too twisted for earth or heaven. At night, he goes out, stalking woman and children as his prey to serve as his meal."

Esmeralda gulped, her courage shaken by the horrific story. With Notre Dame looming so close by, Bijon's words seemed to have had some life in them. She glanced above her. The demon could be up in the towers right now, watching her with his black, hellish eyes…

"So what do you say, twinkle toes? Still brave enough to take on my dare?" Bijon taunted, his mischievous grin still plastered on his face.

Esmeralda was more than a little nervous, but she wasn't the type of girl who'd back down from a challenge, especially when it involved her childish pride. "Of course I am," she responded, trying to keep up her façade of bravery.

"Okay, then: I dare you to climb up into the bell tower to find the demon itself! Ten coins say you won't do it!" Bijon said confidently.

"You're on!" said Esmeralda, before turning briskly around and marching across the bridge towards the cathedral. However, her strong exterior evaporated under the shadow of the church's' looming arch. Unknown figures of men and beasts stared down at her, seeming to warn the girl away from this place. Esmeralda remembered what Clopin had told her when she asked about Notre Dame. _"There's no point going there. Those rich money spenders will knock you over with their fat purses the minute you step in. Besides, our kind doesn't belong there."_

Clopins words echoed in her ears as she stepped through the tall wooden doors, and entered the unknown realm of Notre Dame.

She was instantly overwhelmed. The girl had never seen the inside of a cathedral before. The grandness of its stone walls and stained glass made her eyes widen with awe. Her bare feet felt cold on its marble floor, but Esmeralda didn't seem to notice the chill. Notre Dame was different then anywhere she had seen in her adventures through Paris. It wasn't just the size of the cathedral that overwhelmed her. There was something about the silence in this place that seemed to press down on her. Never had she heard such peaceful yet overpowering silence in her hectic life. In such a large void, Esmeralda felt like there was something bigger surrounding her, and it made her feel so small.

She walked forward in a dream-like state. Although she felt intimidated by this magnificent place, she wasn't scared of it. The way the light created colors and images in the stain glass windows above brought a sort of serene life to the church's' dark stone walls. The young gypsy girl was not used to such wondrous beauty.

_How could an evil demon exist in the place like this?_

With a shudder, Esmeralda remembered why she came here in the first place. She didn't want to go searching for a demon, but she couldn't let those two idiots think she was afraid. Though it was plain from the way she trembled that she was. Taking a deep breath, she walked delicately on the church's' marble floor, as her tambourine jingled quietly against her hip. Of to the side of the church, the girl found a small door, and through that door, a long, winding staircase. The only place to go was up, and there was only one place up would lead to.

Esmeralda gingerly made her way up the stone stairs. It was significantly darker and damper in the tight staircase then the rest of the church. She walked hesitantly, her eyes squinting with caution around each bend. Her heart began to beat faster. She felt her hands shake as she pressed them against the stone wall. Her stomach churned with nervousness with every step. And with every step, she knew she was getting closer to the realm of the feared and hideous demon…

"What are you doing here?"

Esmeralda screamed. She quickly covered her mouth to stifle it, but its echo still traveled down the staircase. Her heart was pounding with fright. But instead of the face of a demon, she saw above her the figure of an old man. He wore a long, white robe, and had soft features. His frowning wrinkles instantly grew softer at the sight of the terrified girl. Slowly, he extended his hand towards Esmeralda, urging her to take it. "Don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you."

Esmeralda's heart finally began to slow down, as she realized that this kindly old man couldn't be a threat. She took his hand, her dainty fingers seeming so miniscule in his psalm. He led her back down the winding stairs, and asked her once again, "My child, why do you wish to go to the tower?"

Esmeralda, like any child caught in the act of doing something wrong, bashfully lowered her head and said, "I was…I was looking for the demon."

The old man looked at her quizzically for a second, and then laughed. "There are no demons living in this sanctum, child," he said, as they entered into the main church. "Only angels."

"Angels?" asked Esmeralda curiously. She remembered being told a few stories about angels-creatures with white wings and beautiful singing voices from above. "What do they do?"

"They lead us. Guard us. Protect us from the evils of this world, and our own sins. They are God's guardians."

"Are they here?" asked Esmeralda, turning her head this way and that for the sight of a white wing.

"Most of them are hidden from us," replied the priest, walking down an aisle with the young child at his side. "They don't appear to us in their true form. Some are invisible; some are in disguise. But they always will listen."

"What if I want to talk to one of them?" Esmeralda asked, as a ray of sunlight passed through the stain glass window and reflected on the marble floor in front of her.

"Why, you pray," said the old man, smiling at the girl's naivety. "Kneel on that stool, clasp your hands together, and do that the others are doing."

Esmeralda entered an empty nave on the side on the church, and did as the priest said. But once her hands were clapped together, as the other people were doing, she was confused as what to do. The priest was already gone. In front of where she was kneeling stood a massive portrait, which had two portals with paintings on each side. Its' golden frame cast the other half of the room in shadow. In the portals were portraits of the Virgin Mary and Saint John, but these sacred figures meant nothing to the gypsy girl. In the center was a figure of a man, decked in white, his two figures together in sign of prayer. Esmeralda did not know this man either, but because of the gentle expression on his face, or maybe because he was decked in white, she was lead to believe that he must be one of the angels. Why else would the priest lead her here?

Esmeralda squirmed in her stool, feeling small and intimidated again. "Um," she started, "I've…never really done this before. I'm not sure if I'm doing it right. But the old man said that I had to kneel and clasp my hands in order to talk to you. So…"

Esmeralda glanced around her to see if any of the other people were watching her, then sighed. When had anyone ever listened to her? Clopin, sometimes. But no one else ever did. And there were some things she didn't even want to tell Clopin. If the angel was really going to listen to her, this might be her own chance to talk. She felt herself let go, and she told the stranger angel all of her deepest fears.

"The old man said that your job is to protect us and guide us. And he says that we can't always see you, but you always listen. And I want to know…why do people hate me? I can see people getting mad at me when I dance on the streets, or just walk around the city. But I don't think I'm doing anything wrong. Am I? Clopin says people don't like to see people who are different then themselves. And that we're different, so people don't like us. But why? I don't understand. Why do they hate people who are different?..."

Esmeralda felt tears roll down her eyes as her voiced wavered, and she began to cry quietly. All of the emotions she hid in the sunlight were being let go. Why was she being punished for something she couldn't control? She was still too young to understand the hierarchy of the world. She only understood the feeling of being scorned and outcasted. But she didn't really know why.

"No no, please don't cry!"

Esmeralda gasped. She glanced all around the nave, looking for the source of the unexpected voice. But no one was with her. "Who are you?" she asked cautiously, her heart racing.

"I…I'm a friend," replied the invisible voice quietly. His voice was soft, but kind. It sounded small, but tender. Esmeralda wondered who the voice could belong to. Then she realized. She stared at the portrait of the man in front of her. The man had a warm expression on his face, and his blue eyes seemed to radiate kindness to the girl. In her childish logic, she reasoned that such a lovely voice could only belong to such a face.

The voice was Esmeralda's angel.

After a few moments silence, she asked, "Angel, what did I do wrong to be hated so much?"

At first there was no reply. Esmeralda began to wonder if the angel decided to turn inconspicuous again, until she heard its' timid reply.

"I don't know," he said slowly, and paused. "All I know is that someone like you doesn't deserve to be hated and sad. Someone like you…should only be happy." The words seemed rushed and bashful, but completely sincere. He probably wasn't the most forthright angel in the world, but he might be the kindest. She was glad this angel was hers.

"Why do you think so?" she whispered, still in doubt.

"Because your different, but…not in the way you think. Not bad-different. Y-you're pretty and honest and…and special," He finished, his words like a soft blanket embracing Esmeralda from the coldness of the world.

She smiled through her drying tears. Even if her angel couldn't take away all the hate in the world, it was nice to be reassured and comforted. An angel wouldn't lie to her.

"Angel? Are you protecting me, like the old man said?" asked Esmeralda. "Sometimes, I get scared that the mean people will hurt me. Sometimes, I have nightmares about the guards, that they'll take me away from Clopin and the other gypsies, to a dark place underground." The young girl involuntarily shuddered at the thought of her nightmares, of the horror stories she heard about the gypsies who got caught. "But…will you watch over me? Will you make sure nothing bad ever happens to me?"

At first there was silence. But when the angelic voice spoke, it was stronger than before. It was still soft and kind, but it spoke with a firmness and resolution that Esmeralda hadn't heard before. It almost seemed unnatural, yet she liked it even more. "For as long as you need to be, you'll be safe," the voice said reassuringly. "I promise."

Esmeralda's small face lit up with a spark of hope, and whispered, "Thank you, Angel" into the seemingly empty space. Alive once again by her angels' magic touch, she skipped out of the magnificent church with a sense of strength and protection. She squinted as the sunlight hit her eyes, and the sounds of the busy city filled her ears once again. Leaving the magical sanctuary and entering the real world again instilled her with a sense of liveliness.

She marched down the cathedral's stone steps confidently, ready to face any challenge that might come her way. She pulled out her silk scarf and pulled it around her shoulders, and twirled as she walked back into the Parisian dirty streets. She didn't care who glared or yelled at her today. She didn't even care that she didn't fulfill her dare and find the demon of Notre Dame. Bijon and Maron could taunt and tease her all she wanted. The would could curse her, taunt her hate her-and she wouldn't care

Besides, how many people could say they had their own angel?


End file.
